Long ago two sisters lived in a small brick house beside a superhighway. The tall chatty one knew the first & last name of every animal in the galaxy. The small quiet one could make her hair grow longer or shorter with no more than a thought. The pecan-colored sister said, “I wish I had…
You believe, if you cast wide enough your net of want and will, something meaningful will respond. Perhaps we are the response— each a cresting echo hesitating, vibrant with the moment before rippling back. But you’re steadfast as Odysseus strapped to the mast, as you were in ’81 when Reagan ordered you back to work….
was the often walks it’s in all the books—psalms, Solomon, the ones with all the pictures of men walking at night. A legion of staves, and etched onto the leaves, where here I have witnessed some blind world of the blind beneath a torch held in a sheaf on which sketched, a face, Says…
Tap tap, you’ve planted a scarecrow at the center of your field of broken stones. Watch it grow, watch it. You’ve nailed her to the desolation tree blossoming over this field where somebody buried seed long ago. Bone hammer, crooked hammer, thing nailed to a tree. What love would look like. What home would look…
Among the peopled flowers my legitimate crankiness forced into diaspora, none have been more far-flung than the aster. I do not understand how such star structures are formed. Unlike me, the aster throws rays blazing from white to pink or purple about a disk that is usually yellow. Flower heads of a composite type leave…
He wanted a cave. Spoke back to vices out of the alley, where hummers and hearses flashed like a toy gun’s blanks. Coats he lent to children raised by wolves. In a classroom, the uniforms asked him to write his name over and over. Then he auctioned his wife. He wanted a cave they gave…
Adumbrate. Omne animalum post coitam tristam sunt. Had this boyfriend once recited Latin to me as we walked across the campus to B & E an empty house—some physics major. I thought romantic. As in, the streetcast shadow adumbrates the sleeping wall. A fickle, melancholy, sketchy trait. See more at umbrage. And if I partially…
Do you have roots? Or do you picture yourself an astronaut inside a bubble suit. Altitudinous above the troposphere, suspended like candy below the exosphere. Connected to a stalled, mechanized version of your future self by a twisting. Gold umbilicus: how sweet to be (simultaneously) the perpetrator and the crime’s. Sole…
You were not gone but asleep through the slideshow, and you were gone the projector pointing skyward, the ceiling quivering with our faces. Are there many sizes of infinity? These are stars, this the black tank, circular glass, a worldless plankton, which are leave, a worldless plankton, which are come. Wake now. O mountains O…
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